The Question
by fanged geranium
Summary: Fingon thinks about his reasons for following Fëanor.


_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for this work._

**"Long before, in the bliss of Valinor, before Melkor was unchained, or lies came between them, Fingon had been close in friendship with Maedhros; and though he knew not yet that Maedhros had not forgotten him at the burning of the ships, the thought of their ancient friendship stung his heart."**

"Why did you leave Tirion? You do not care for the Silmarils, nor for my father. Do you want a realm of your own, as Artanis does?" If he concentrated very hard Fingon could still hear Maedhros's voice, although years had passed since they last spoke. "Why do you not return like Arafinwë did and wait for your precious Valar to do something?"

It was the day before Fëanor and his sons took the ships, leaving Fingolfin and his people to cross the ice. Fingon sometimes wondered if he would have done the same in his uncle's place. He rather thought that he should; it would be most unpleasant to have the one who had usurped your place constantly watching your movements, waiting for you to make your next mistake. Fingon had not seen his uncle or his half-cousins much in the year since the Kinslaying and the curse, for they travelled on the ships while he marched with his father. With hindsight Fingon realised that Maedhros had only spoken to him that day to say goodbye: he did not intend to argue, but any discussion of Fëanor and Fingolfin and their rival claims to the kingship of the Noldor inevitably lead to a dispute between the cousins. To Fingon it was obvious that Fëanor was a very poor king, and he thought that Maedhros agreed, but of course he would not admit it. Attempting to defend an indefensible position had caused Maedhros to snap at his cousin, and ask that question: "Why did you leave Tirion?"

Fingon did not have an answer, or at least not a good answer. He had allowed himself to be swayed by Fëanor's fine speech, but he did not believe a word of it, yet he had persuaded his father. The Valar did not keep the elves prisoner, nor commit any of the other iniquities Fëanor laid at their door, save one: they released Morgoth from his confinement in the Halls of Mandos. He admitted to himself that a land to rule as he wished would be a pleasant thing to have, but he could have built a new city in Valinor, as Fëanor had done at Formenos, if that was his desire.

He saw the sky glow orange against the darkness in the east, and he did not want to believe that his closest friend of almost three ages had betrayed him, but the fire upon the further shore gave him no choice. Fingon followed his father across the Helcaraxë, because it was too late to turn back, and he found himself despising Fëanor and Finarfin alike. He saw his brother's wife give up and succumb to the cold, and he pitied her. She was condemned by the curse for his deeds and his half-cousins' actions at Alqualondë, not her own. Fingon wished that she had followed his mother's example and stayed in Valinor, but he did not regret his own decision to leave.

The moon rose for the first time, a pale imitation of the light of Telperion, but a welcome sight nevertheless, as they walked into Middle-earth, the ice behind them at last. It crossed the sky seven times before the sun rose as a great fire out of the western sea, flooding the land with a light not seen since the fall of Illuin. They marched up to the gates of Angband, trumpets blowing and banners waving in the bright new light, and Fingon thought he could hear his cousin's voice mocking him in the echoes, still asking the question he could not answer: "Why did you leave Tirion? What do you seek in Middle-earth?" There was no reply from Angband, so Fingolfin's host went back to Hithlum, where Fëanor's people were.

Fingon rode around Lake Mithrim to Fëanor's encampment with his brother Turgon. They were met by Maglor, who told them of Fëanor's death. "But where is Maitimo?" asked Fingon.

"He is worse than dead," said Maglor, "he has been a prisoner of Moringotto for three years."

"I am glad of it," said Turgon, "my wife died because you burned the ships. I only wish that you would all meet the same fate."

"I understand," said Maglor, "for I have lost my wife too. You are more fortunate, for you may meet Elenwë again in the Halls of Mandos."

Turgon simply turned away and began to walk north, back to Fingolfin's camp. Fingon admired his brother's restraint, but he would have liked to stay to speak with his other cousins.

Time passed rapidly in Middle-earth. Quarrels between individuals of the two opposing factions of Noldor became minor skirmishes between small groups before Fingon was even aware that anything was wrong. Fingolfin ignored his representations, saying that he was sure the Fëanorians were at fault, and a second visit to Maglor did not help matters. "Your people must be on our land," he said. Fingon could see that if the Noldor were not reunited they would be more likely to fight each other than Morgoth, so he set out to look for Maedhros.

"Why did you leave Tirion?" the wind wailed as it whistled around the sheer cliffs of Thangorodrim, "Why do you follow Fëanáro through blood and darkness?" He played his harp and sang of happier times to drown out the mournful cry, and when he stopped the song continued in the echoes, in a voice that was not his own.

"Nelyafinwë!" he called, and the singing ceased, "Where are you?"

"Look up!" came the reply. Far above him Fingon could just see his cousin hanging from a precipice. He climbed as high as he could, but when he could climb no further the distance seemed just as great. "You have your bow, Findekáno; please shoot me, I beg you. I would prefer death to this torment."

Fingon strung his bow, and called upon Manwë for aid, as it would be a very difficult shot, but before he could release his arrow Thorondor, King of the Eagles, flew down to him. The Eagle carried Fingon up to his cousin, but he found no way to release Maedhros from the bond, and Maedhros again asked for death.

"I will not kill you," said Fingon, "but what I shall do will cause you pain." It took him no more than half a minute to draw his dagger and sever Maedhros's wrist, and when he was done Maedhros laughed.

"You have not hurt me," he said, "you have freed me from a far worse pain, and I shall not forget it."

All the Noldor praised Fingon for his valiant deed, but the rift between the Fëanorians and the followers of Fingolfin and the sons of Finarfin was not completely healed until the sons of Fëanor acknowledged Fingolfin as King of all the Noldor. It was the day after this momentous event that Fingon travelled to the south of Lake Mithrim to see his cousin to finish their conversation from so long ago.

"Why did you rescue me?" asked Maedhros.

"Because you were my friend upon a time, and I needed to heal the feud that divided our people," said Fingon. "It was the right thing to do. Why did you burn the ships?"

"I did not. I asked my father to send them back for you, but he would not, and I could do nothing to stop him setting them alight."

"Why did you relinquish your claim to the kingship?"

"What use would I have for a crown? I have my oath, and I believe you were right. Your father will be a far better king than mine could ever have been." He paused. "Why did you leave Tirion?"

As if he had known how that question had occupied his friend's mind. But this time Fingon had an answer: "Because Finwë was my grandfather too."

"You want revenge."

"Yes." but Maedhros only smiled at him, so he decided that the discussion was over. "Shall we go hunting? There is some particularly fine game in these parts."


End file.
